Författare: Jonas

TrueCaller, a popular app built by a Swedish company and world’s largest collaborative phone directory compromised by Syrian Electronic Army hackers. Truecaller was running an outdated version (3.5.1) of blogging software WordPress for its web interface and there are millions of Phonebook records available in their database that were reportedly stolen by hackers, as claimed on their twitter account. Syrian Electronic Army also claimed tha…

OS X messes up my Bluetooth keyboard modifier keys sometimes, and I wanted a quick solution to the problem.

After a quick Google search, I found this post on Apple Support Communities. It is from 2006 which means it probably was made for OS X 10.4 Tiger. When trying the script on my Mac Mini with 10.8 Mountain Lion a few errors occured and since I thought I would share the updated script with you. Read More

Public Service Announcement: Our different ways of writing dates as numbers can lead to online confusion. That’s why in 1988 ISO set a global standard numeric date format. This is *the* correct way to…

In a previous list, I highlighted ten breeds of dog that have become subject to bans throughout the world for their immensity and aggression. The fact is, big dogs often get a bum rap. Many little dogs bite as much, if not more frequently than their larger brethren. Because of their smaller size, the bites aren’t serious and rarely require medical attention, which skews the statistics unfairly. Below is a list of ten breeds that, while small or not otherwise overtly intimidating, are frequently underestimated.

A subscriber of the Ontario Argus has written to the editor of that fine weekly, propounding a certain question, which, so far as we know, yet remains unanswered. The question is this — ”Where shall I bury my dog?” It is asked in advance of death.

The Oregonian trusts the Argus will not be offended if this newspaper undertakes an answer, for surely such a question merits a reply, since the man who asked it, on the evidence of his letter, loves the dog. It distresses him to think of his favorite as dishonored in death, mere carrion in the winter rains. Within that sloping, canine skull, he must reflect when the dog is dead, were thoughts that dignified the dog and honored the master. The hand of the master and of the friend stroked often in affection this rough, pathetic husk that was a dog.

We would say to the Ontario man that there are various places in which a dog may be buried. We are thinking now of a setter, whose coat was flame in the sunshine, and who, so far as we are aware, never entertained a mean or an unworthy thought. This setter is buried beneath a cherry tree, under four feet of garden loam, and at its proper season the cherry strews petals on the green lawn of his grave. Beneath a cherry tree, or an apple, or any flowering shrub of the garden, is an excellent place to bury a good dog. Beneath such trees, such shrubs, he slept in the drowsy summer, or gnawed at a flavorous bone, or lifted head to challenge some strange intruder. These are good places, in life or in death. Yet it is a small matter, and it touches sentiment more than anything else.

For if the dog be well remembered, if sometimes he leaps through your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, questing, asking, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where that dog sleeps at long and at last. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream he knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture land, where most exhilarating cattle graze. It is all one to the dog, and all one to you, and nothing is gained, and nothing lost — if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a dog. One place that is best of all.

If you bury him in this spot, the secret of which you must already have, he will come to you when you call — come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path, and to your side again. And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel they should not growl at him, nor resent his coming, for he is yours and he belongs there.

People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who hear no whimper pitched too fine for mere audition, people who may never really have had a dog. Smile at them then, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing.